Don't Let Me Go
by Nights Sleepless
Summary: Despite how he's trained himself, Peter misses her, and just wants somesort of reaction from her that'll show she's still there. Spoilers for Night Of Desirable Objects. Assuming Olivia had not accidently shot at Peter in that house.


Okay, so I kinda wondered what Peter was going to say if Liv hadn't shot at him. Probably something like, "No one here? Cool, let's roll." But in more or less words, haha. And I may have made Olivia sound more fearful and broken, but this is from Peter's eyes. Olivia isn't the only one being hurt as she falls farther and farther into the protective shell inside of her mind. I was about to watch the first episode, just for kicks, to see how far they've come, and I realized that Peter is probably really missing her right now. She's there, right in front of him. But it's not like it used to be. In early episodes she had amost begun to open up to him, trust him, and now it's all gone. She barely trusts herself, and she's pushing him farther and farther away.

Anyways, I just wanted to show how desperate Peter is to get something from her. A spark, a reaction. Anything to show there's hope she can come back from where she is.

So, ta da!

* * *

The house kind of had a cutesy farmhouse touch. Light wallpaper, hardwood floors. The whole fact that it was empty, void of little farm children or anything, was almost depressing. Like the house didn't deserve the desolation it held. But it really wasn't his place to judge. He wasn't the sentimental type to begin with, so the thoughts meant almost nothing to him as they drifted through his head, barely registering.

As he slowly walked down the hallways upstairs, he kept his steps quiet. There was shuffling in the room on the other side, and he kept his eyes on the doorway. As far as he knew, the only person up here was Olivia. Investigating, and digging. Doing her FBI thing. Looking for someone she was sure was here.

He couldn't help but compare her to the house they were in. It had a face, a front. Smiling when first viewed. Conveying promise and reassurance. But once viewed with closer inspection, the cracks in the surface, become apparent. The fading paint due to neglect. The dust on the door, leading in. And once in side, he realized the complete chaos of emptiness. Most of the doors were closed. Everything was extremely well-kept. Nothing left out for someone to see or stumble on.

And as he made these analogies, he couldn't help but sigh. Because when he first met her... it wouldn't even cross his mind to do so. She had fire, determination. She had blocked him out, but not out of fear or weakness, but only because she just didn't know him. She had laughed at his jokes, joined in with her own. After a while, she warmed up to him. Let him into a few corners. Even as the world was being unveiled, she had light. She had life.

But now... damage and wreck, one after the other. Defenses being torn down. But not the right ones, and not by him. He knew how to handle her. How to pluck her strings to let him inside. What the world was doing to her... it was cruel and atrocious. It flared in him the protective state he never knew he had before he met her. Protective, but virtually useless. He could only protect her from small offenses, himself, and maybe physical harm. The last one was shaky, as she was limping with a cane and had scrapes all over her.

Stopping in front of the doorway, and leaning to he could peer in, he summed up the way he felt about her. Helpless. Helpless to help her, to take care of her. What was he supposed to do? He wished he could just burrow himself deep inside of her, to pick the answer from the back of her heart. But he was scared to even literally touch her, afraid she'd break. Nevertheless, go on a full expedition behind her crumbling walls.

He watched her hold her gun up to an open closet, although he didn't see anything inside. The fear was in her eyes, the confusion. She had her head tilted, as if she could hear something. He mirrored her, but all he could hear was her eratic breaths.

"Olivia," he breathed. Quietly, as if not to startle her. Like she was some sort of untrusting stray cat.

She jumped visibly, the gun snapping to point at him. Instinct came over him, and maybe some experience of having a gun pointed at him. He jumped as well, throwing his hands up, and moving to hurry behind the protection of the wall. But, he froze instead, realizing he didn't need to hide from her.

"Oh, Peter!" she said, horrified. She dropped the gun to her side, immediately. "I'm sorry! I just..."

"I know," he answered. Even though he didn't really. He wished he did. Dropping his hands, he tilted his head. "What's in the closet?" he questioned.

She glanced at it, and then back to him quickly. "I..." Another glance from it to him. "It's nothing. I thought I heard something. But it's nothing. At all."

Peter decided to tuck the moment into his jacket pocket, and think about it later tonight. While he's laying in bed, unable to sleep, worrying. Taking a look around the room, he noted the the scientific equipment. The beakers and veils. Someone seemed to have a taste for it. Turning to look at her, he watched her limp to a counter, and grab her cane, which was propped against it. Internally, he sighed, and frowned visibly. He hated that damn cane.

"Anyone here?" he asked.

"If they were, they're gone now," she answered quietly. Turning to face him, she appeared to be attempting to put a uncracked mask on. "Where is he?"

Peter took a step towards her. "He's just making some tea, or coffee, or something." Shrugging, he dared another step towards her.

"You shouldn't have left him alone," she chided.

He watched her for a moment, his face blank. He knew she was just trying to divert his attention from her to himself. Make him think about what he should be doing, instead of wanting to do. And right now, the only thing he was wanting to do was fix her. He wished there was some button to push or twist to make her okay again. Anything. And if not, then he wished he could just take her into a small room, away from everyone, and wrap his arms around her. Enclose her with his warmth, and hope... pray to a God he doesn't even believe in, that he could spark some warmth of her own.

Thinking about it, he turned and closed the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"He's not going anywhere, Liv," he assured her, turning around to face her. She stood rigid, eyeing him. Lopsided, due to her hip, her shoulders hunched. Stepping up to her, til he was right in front of her, he looked her straight in the eyes. "Liv."

"What?" she questioned.

Reaching forward, he grabbed her wrist and pulled it up. Taking the gun from her hand, he watched her open her mouth in protest. She was a cop, and FBI agent, a gun was a likely crutch. He just didn't like it being hers. Her comfort blanket, her shoulder. Should not be a gun. Leaning close to her, he watched her breath hitch. But he only reached back to place the gun on the counter behind her. He leaned back, and her eyes darted away.

"Peter, really, we should question him."

He ignored her. No, not ignored. Never that. He merely just chose not to acknowledge she spoke. He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around hers as it clutched the cane, keeping his eyes on her face. She immediately pulled her hand away, and his hand grasped the cane before it fell. Picking it up, he leaned forward again to place it on the counter.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He could have smiled at how annoyed she sounded. It was an emotion besides fear, and he was going to take it.

"Breaking a rule," he answered simply. And he knew he was. There were so many rules etched on the inside of her eyelids. He could see them when she closed her eyes or blinked. Among them was _do not get close._ Before, it had been at the bottom of the list. And she had danced around it before, when she let him in on rare occasions. But somehow, it had bounced up to numero uno. And he did not like that one bit.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

Slowly, he brought his hands up. He almost hesitated, but shook the thought away. Placing them on the side of her head, he stepped closer to her. So close, he could feel her damaged hip brush his. She stared up at him. Behind the fog, he could see the challenge. The bite. The anger that was chained in the box she put the rest of her emotions in. So, he dared a little more.

_Give me a reaction_, he begged.

Using his hands to tilt her head up, he tilted his own. Dropping his lips down, he pressed them against her forehead. He could feel her freeze, her hands coming up to his chest, ready to push him away. But she didn't. And he loved how her hands on him stirred something.

Moving his hands, he wrapped one on the back of her shoulders, the other on the back of her head. And then he pulled her to him. Her face going to rest in the crook between his neck and shoulder, his resting on her head.

"What are you afraid of, Liv?" he whispered into her ear. Her hands flexed, grabbing his jacket. "What are you afraid of?"

But she didn't answer.

Deciding to give something of himself up, before pressing her to first, he tightened his grip on her. "_I'm_ afraid you won't come back."

"From where?" she asked after a moment. She finally pulled her head up, and pushed him away. He let her, easily, dropping his hands to his sides and stepping back. She was angry. Very. And he couldn't help but feel a little giddy inside.

Playing it blunt, he knew his answer would have definitely angered her, had it been within the few months everything was heading to something good. Between him and her. Not everything, as in the world. No, he's pretty sure that's been slipping south. After a pause, he answered. "From wherever you've gone within your mind."

She stared at him. And even Peter couldn't read what was in her eyes.

He didn't get a chance to preform his dissection before they were interrupted. "Are you two gonna spend all your time up there?" the man from earlier called from the stairs. When Peter turned to look towards the door, he took a moment to collect the disappointment on his face. When he looked back, Olivia had collected her gun and cane, and was hobbling past him and out the door. He let her get some distance from him, before moving out of the room.

At least he touched her, and she didn't break. She was still in there somewhere, and damnit, he was gonna pull her back. Whether he was to reach down and haul her out of the depths, or gently coax her. It was gonna happen. She wasn't the only one hurting here, and he's going to show her it. Despite what he's denied since the beginning, he was capable of longing for someone, for missing someone. And he missed her.


End file.
